


Invitations

by boywonder



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/pseuds/boywonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Unless you're afraid to," Dorian said, goading.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Afraid of what?" Ethan asked.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Whatever it is you think you're keeping secret from everyone around you," Dorian answered, matter-of-factly.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Invitations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xannish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xannish/gifts).



"Are you avoiding me, Mister Chandler?"

Ethan downed his drink a little too fast for wine. Dorian's eyes followed the motion of the glass, but other than that, nothing on his face changed. 

"Now why would I be doing that?" Ethan asked, looking at Dorian but not quite meeting his eyes.

"You tell me," Dorian countered. He had an air about him as if nothing really mattered at all, but something in the way he stared at Ethan belied it, just a little. That, or Ethan was too sensitive about it.

Ethan's hand tightened on his glass, just a little. He forced a smile, though it wouldn't have fooled anyone, and turned around to actually look at Dorian.

"Can I help you with something?"

Dorian shrugged one shoulder and closed the distance between them, gliding more than walking. He reached out and took the glass out of Ethan's grip; Ethan was startled enough by the closeness, by the _familiarity_ , and he let it happen.

Unfazed by Ethan's frown, Dorian picked up one of the wine bottles sitting on the counter in front of Ethan and poured some into the glass he'd taken. It was all one fluid motion, easy, the way he did everything. 

He set the bottle down again and held the half-full glass out to Ethan, letting the cup sit in his hands, the stem dangling between his fingers.. "You look like you could use more of this."

Ethan just stared at him. Dorian raised an eyebrow in a practiced, questioning look. Another moment passed. A smile played on Dorian's lips. He brought the glass to his own lips and took a sip from it.

"You were just drinking it. Are you sure you're not avoiding me?"

He offered the glass again. Ethan took it this time, though he never took his eyes off Dorian. Even when he raised it to drink from, his eyes stayed locked on Dorian the whole time.

"Or are you really just not a fan of Wagner?" Dorian continued. The smile returned to ghost at the corners of his mouth. He watched Ethan drink the way a lion might watch a zebra drink, and something in the look annoyed Ethan enough to look away again.

"Look, what do you _want_?" Ethan asked.

Dorian let the smile actually creep onto his face, just a bit. "For you to stay in the morning long enough to watch you get dressed," he answered.

Ethan couldn't help but look at him again then, eyebrows furrowed, gaze dark.

"No absinthe, no Wagner. Just you. Just me," Dorian continued, unperturbed.

Ethan snorted and distracted himself with his drink again.

"Unless you're afraid to," Dorian said, goading.

"Afraid of what?" Ethan asked.

"Whatever it is you think you're keeping secret from everyone around you," Dorian answered, matter-of-factly.

Ethan didn't answer.

"Well. Think about it. I'll be here all night," Dorian said, and the distance between them suddenly seemed to grow as Dorian's demeanor changed, shutting Ethan out instead of forcing him too close. "Enjoy the wine, Mister Chandler."

Most of the other guests had trickled out by the time Ethan went and found Dorian. Only the oddest ones seemed to be left. Ethan felt like he stood out among them, with their intricate clothes and elaborate hairstyles. He often felt like he stood out just by virtue of being a tall American, but it was worse among the strange aristocracy that filled Dorian's parties. Ethan wasn't entirely sure why he'd turned up in the first place. He told himself it was to keep an eye on Miss Ives, but...

"Are you leaving?" Dorian asked, catching Ethan's eye. He was half-attached to some woman in a red dress, but he moved away from her as if he didn't even see her and made his way toward Ethan instead. If he noticed her offended look, he didn't let on.

Ethan was afraid, for just a second, that Dorian would attach to him instead, right there in public. Dorian certainly didn't care for propriety, but he knew enough to know that Ethan would be... _uncomfortable_ , to say the least, and he stopped a foot or so away.

"Haven't decided yet," Ethan answered.

"Would you care to take a walk while you decide?"

Ethan shrugged. Dorian's eyes slid over him, lingering for a moment on the fists balled at his sides before meeting his again. That smile was back. Ethan wondered if Dorian ever smiled and meant it.

"I guess."

Dorian turned and walked off, through the still half-crowded room, leaving Ethan to follow or not.

There were rooms and rooms in the house, and Ethan hadn't seen them all last time. He had a feeling he wouldn't this time, either. 

"If you'd rather the Wagner, I can accommodate-" Dorian started.

"Stop it," Ethan said. "Why the hell are you doing this?"

Dorian stopped walking and looked back at Ethan. His surprise almost looked genuine. "Doing what?"

"Whatever this is," Ethan said, gesturing vaguely with a hand.

"Because it bothers you," Dorian answered, simply. "Why did you come with me?"

"I don't fucking know," Ethan answered, annoyed enough not to find an excuse.

Dorian set the wine glass he'd been carrying down on an end table. "Yes you do."

Wagner or not, Ethan's hands were on Dorian in an instant. Dorian responded to him easily, lips and tongue and teeth clashing in a dance that Dorian had _far_ more practice at than Ethan did. 

Ethan's hands were tight on Dorian's shoulders when he pushed away from the kiss. He didn't let _go_ , though.

"I shouldn't do this. Not tonight."

"Did you have somewhere else to be?"

"Not here," Ethan responded. 

"Are you shaking, Mister Chandler?" Dorian teased.

Ethan shook his head, but it was hard to deny that his hands were shaking. He could feel control slipping.

"You're not going to hurt me," Dorian said. "Well. I suppose that isn't quite true. But I don't _care_ if you hurt me." 

"You don't know-"

Dorian put a hand on Ethan's lips. "That doesn't matter." He pulled Ethan back down again and kissed him, dragging his teeth along the taller man's lower lip. That got Ethan's attention again, and Ethan pushed back, forcing Dorian backwards against the wall.

Dorian winced, though whether it was for show or not, Ethan couldn't be sure.

It didn't matter.

Even Dorian didn't have anything else to say, for the moment. The only sounds were their teeth hitting each other - too loud, too jarring in Ethan's ears - and the satisfying sound of fabric ripping when Ethan pulled at Dorian's clothes.

The moon shone in through the window as Dorian pulled Ethan to the bed with him, leaving the rest of their clothes half-ruined in a trail on the floor. 

Downstairs, music played as the guests who lingered enjoyed themselves.

Upstairs in the strange bedroom, it was as promised - no music, no absinthe. 

Ethan grabbed Dorian's wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand.

"You're not afraid?" Ethan asked.

Dorian pushed again Ethan, testing his grip. "No," he said.

"That's a shame," Ethan replied, all but growling the words back. Dorian's smile didn't falter, even as Ethan's hand gripped too tight around his wrists.

Ethan wondered later, through his half-memories, if the guests often heard screams from the bedrooms.

When Ethan woke the next morning, he was on the floor in the same room. It was cold. He wasn't wearing anything. He practically jumped into wakefulness, looking down at his naked body with bleary eyes. His vision sharpened when he realized he was bloody. There were streaks down his chest, obviously painted there with fingers. When he raised his hands to look at them, they were both entirely red. 

He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding in his ears. He'd known better, he'd _fucking_ known better, with the full moon shining in the goddamn _window_ like that...

"Is everything all right?" came Dorian's voice, calmly, from the doorway.

Ethan's head turned around so fast that he was lucky he didn't get whiplash.

Dorian looked as perfectly put-together as ever. He wasn't dressed for the day yet, but he was wearing a dressing gown and drinking what was probably champagne out of a fluted glass. 

"I don't...I don't understand..." Ethan said, looking back around at the room. There was blood on the sheets - more blood than made sense for how uninjured Dorian appeared to be. And he hadn't imagined the blood on his hands; when he looked down, it was still there.

Dorian watched Ethan's panic with a cool, unchanging gaze, the way he watched almost everything else.

If Ethan thought hard enough, he could remember that gaze changing, turning into at _least_ something passionate. But it escaped him again as he tried to focus.

"Hang on, you-"

"Are perfectly fine. And more well-rested than you, from the state of things. That's _quite_ something you're afraid of, Ethan Chandler."

The sound of his name like that snapped Ethan into a more coherent state. He stormed toward Dorian.

"How are you so calm? How are you not...not..."

"Hurt? Dead? Well. We all have things we hide from those around us. I happen to be more durable than most. _You_ happen to be _sharper_. Though I did get my wish. Half of it, at least."

"What wish was that?"

"For you to stay long enough to watch you get dressed," Dorian said, gesturing with his empty hand at Ethan's still-naked frame, "Though I think your shirt might be torn. I trust it was worth it."

Ethan stared at him. Was the blood some kind of joke? He couldn't be sure.

"Would you like a bath first? I can have one drawn up for you."

"I would _like_ for you to tell me what's going on."

Dorian blinked at him. "I would like for you to tell _me_ what's going on. But I've a feeling you're not going to."

Ethan's frown was the only answer Dorian got. "Suit yourself. Go home bloody, if you can't bear to be here another minute. Just don't pretend it's me you're running from. That won't serve either of us."

Ethan settled for using the basin and a towel to get most of the mess off his hands. He tried to ignore Dorian's watchful gaze. At least Dorian didn't try to make any kind of conversation.

He pulled on his clothes (his shirt _was_ torn, but he could hide that under his jacket; wouldn't be the first time) and went to leave.

"Will you keep running, then?" Dorian called.

"Not running."

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that."

Ethan once again stormed up to Dorian, and there was fire in his eyes.

"That's much better. That anger. So much more interesting than when you pretend to be normal."

Ethan stopped short, a couple feet away from Dorian. Dorian, as ever, remained unflinching, unchanging. Ethan didn't know why it made him so mad. 

"Did you want a repeat performance of last night? I don't have anywhere to be."

Ethan, unthinking, grabbed the collar of Dorian's dressing gown and pulled him closer, so their faces were barely an inch apart. "You don't know what you're doing," he said, again more growl than speech.

"Don't I? I think _you_ don't know what you're doing. I'm not the one second-guessing any of this."

"But you're the one that's going to get hurt."

"Look around this room, Ethan," Dorian said. "I'm going to be fine. There is nothing you could possibly do to me."

It was the most sincere thing Ethan had heard Dorian say, probably ever, and it startled him.

Ethan let Dorian go, though he didn't move away.

"I assume you'll decline my invitation next time?" Dorian asked, all sincerity gone in an instant.

Ethan reached out and grabbed Dorian's face this time, fingers tightening harshly on his jaw. "Don't assume anything about me," he said, and leaned down to press his lips against Dorian's before Dorian could come up with some irritating remark. 

Dorian let him leave after that. Ethan tried not to think about the bloody room he's left behind. Wasn't the first, wouldn't (likely) be the last.

Though if he was going to keep accepting these invitations, maybe he was going to have to find a way to stop refusing to remember them.


End file.
